


Help Me Lose My Mind

by savaged



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Crismes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Short Chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between feelings for a coworker, a screwed up week, and Iker Casillas pushing him into a team he isn't really sure he likes, James finds one thing that saves all. That one special thing, named Cristiano Ronaldo, that doesn't even know what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the loss against Real Sociedad 4-2, when Cris wasn't present and Iker had such a poker face.
> 
> hey, guys! This is a kind of prologue for what comes next. It should explain James' state of mind, the people and issues he's surrounded with, and furthermore, why is the arrival of one (particular) person soo much of a turning-point in the story. I hope you enjoy these :)

They say it's the chance of having a dream come true that which makes life interesting. In football as in life, that chance means all.  

James stared at his feet dumbfounded, arguments stirring his wits and blood raising the heat of his body. His cheeks eventually pink from embarrassment because the cameras focused on each one of his teammates, commentators sighing loud and saying pretty tough stuff about them, because the White House couldn't keep their score even when they were winning by two points of advantage. They had _lost_ that chance.  

The colombian huffed and felt tears forming at the corners of his reddened eyes, sobs getting caught in the middle of his throat. That week had been by far the worst of the whole month, and that's adding the amount of expectation the coach had set in them after winning the last cup. A water pipe in his house broke, so he had been showering with cold water for three days straight. His baby sick and ill at her mother's house, getting four hours of sleep because all he could think about was getting robbed. He had lost the keys to his flat. He was home alone most of the time.  

Iker put his hands on his hips cursing everyone between gritted teeth as the referee whistled the last blow. He hadn't quitted or asked for a change even though James had seen him pray during the half time, peering over his locker, seeing all the pictures of his family hanging from the metal door. He didn't know their names. Only the boy's, because he was bright eyed, easy to remember by the big amount of photos on his social account's profiles, but James had been too shy to ask Iker. And also because Iker wouldn't have answered.   At first he was pretty much ignored by the whole team like that.  

Someone hit James on the head making him go back to reality; the already finished match. A guy from the other team tried to greet him and shake his hand, but Benzema went past him and shoved both to a side, off his way. James reacted as usual, not minding a bit. Maybe Benzema had to rush to the showers for some non-casual reason.  

And then it was Gareth who grabbed a chunk of James' hair and dragged him through the rest of the pitch, earning the laughs and mockeries of the other members of the team walking to the washrooms. An obscure mood for after a lost match; it got them like you get cigarette smell in your clothes if someone's smoking near you, and James bit his lower lip once Bale left him alone. That's when Pepe interfered, looking at the youngster from the door of the already steamy bathroom. Voices of the coach and other people approached from the hallway that lead to other facilities, and James turned his back to them looking for a towel.  

"Sixty-three million euro." Pepe took off his sweaty shirt talking loud on purpose so the rest could hear, wiped his forehead. "I guess Real Madrid does overrate unworthy shit like you, goddamn south americans" most of them smiled. Hell, even Sergio -who seemed a cool guy to James,- smirked and suddenly Pepe's all over him, pushing James against the wall by the chest.  

"Biggest Madrid's joke shined tonight. Way to miss one hundred chances tonight, eh? Were you waiting for dear Cristiano to assist?"  

"I heard he called and Cris blocked his number" said one of the voices in the background as they chuckled, and Pepe shoved him once again when James tried to step forwards.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Did I tell you to move?"  

"I didn't call him, man. Let me go" James stared at the ground with his feet together. Pepe grabbed him by the chin making him look up.  

"I'm just joking. Come on" he smacked the boy by the arm. "Come on" he saw him rub his red eyes with a clenched fist and sighed in frustration, "don't start, James. We all like to joke around-"

  "Fuck off!" James swatted his hand and pushed him away, then walked into a shower cubicle. Getting glared down like a high schooler getting away from a fight and feeling the same way, he turned the hot water tap on and let the jets stream down his pale flushed body, his lips parted in relief as the water warmed his back and the lower parts of it, the atractive curve of his tight bottom getting lubed by the white soap. A strong shiver ran through him.  

Then, he realized the bumps of his ribs jutting on his skin. And that he was so tired. Caught in a circle of bad vibes, and that he had no idea how to get out.

  At least that was what he thought until the second after opening the doors of the stadium out to the street. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun - Troye Sivan is a perfect song for this chapter.. So go listen to it while you read this if you may! (you're gonna be delighted, trust me)

A man was waiting for him. He shouldn't have been waiting for him, ever.  

Rain hit the ground hard and steady wetting and flooding the entire streets of the venue. Someone was waiting for him across the exit door of the Anoeta's stadium, wearing black big sunglasses under a dark brown umbrella and a million dollar smile. 

 James felt something stir inside him and slouched, lowering his head and walking past Cristiano in plans of getting a taxi, ashamed of even saying 'hi' to him; the man was waiting for Marcelo or Iker, most likely, and too busy tapping the ground with his fancy shoes and scanning James from head to toes. He felt so stared down he had to grit his teeth to not snap back at Cristiano.

  "James" Cris' potent voice called. The boy stopped dead in his tracks and looked back, shaking his head.

  "The hell do you want?" He regretted it the same moment his eyes met Cristiano's.  

"I was waiting for you," a vague movement of the umbrella around his hand and the drop of a glance to his feet. "I watched the match."

  "Yeah, I'm... I..." If he could have said 'I'm sorry I'm not as good as you' he would have, but it was gonna put him ten steps under Cristiano, and as to say he wasn't precisely fitting the billionaire's level right now.

  "No! You were just perfect, listen. You're not half bad. I want you to-" seeing James' expression of exasperation he stopped and pursed his lips, then grabbed the boy's arm pulling him closer and under the umbrella ignoring the way James' eyes widened, and how his mouth opened slightly, and started walking towards his car and muttered to himself "screw this. I'm taking you to play video games."  

"Video games?"

  There was a silly smile drawn on his face giving away his excitement. God, he felt pathetic standing aside of this man and entering his car. A shock of aftershave fragrance and cologne invaded him as he opened the door, and settled down quickly putting his bag of clothes and stuff between his training shoes. He had dressed himself casual after the match, he always did, but now that he had Cristiano to a side he noticed he should learn to dress himself in brand clothes if he wanted to start looking like a professional footballer instead of a delivery boy.  

Not that being a delivery boy was bad, but he had gotten his white shirt from an outlet store in discount just because he liked it enough to buy it. Cristiano probably got his from a Louis Vuitton store on a holiday at Ibiza or similar, while James could have worn the same shirt throughout an entire week.  

"Have you ever been to Colombia?"  

Cristiano looked at him from the corner of his eye taking an avenue. He wriggled his eyebrows, lips pouting and wrinkling the lines of his face James knew so well. "No, I haven't."  

He bit his bottom lip wondering the nature of such dumb question. "It's really pretty. Best beaches of South America."  

"Oh, yeah?" Cris saw the red wetted lips under white teeth getting bitten, so he sighed grasping onto his main goal. "Do you like it here, though?" 

 "I love it." James bounced a little on his seat, smiling brightly, sparks in his eyes and all. "Do you? Madrid, I mean."

 "Yeah... Got me a while with the language but people's pretty like in Portugal. I guess Spain isn't very different from there after all." Cristiano threw a suggestive glance at James and watched the boy nod along. He had watched the same gesture in Porto matches. "You look like you're getting to know the team. That's good."  

"Cris" James sighed loud, "they probably don't even know my last name."

  "Don't be silly, it's on your back."  

"It's not!" James scoffed and protested as Cris winced, realizing his mistake. "See? You don't even remember what I'm wearing at every effing match!"  

"That's because I'm not really focused in what you're wearing, James."

  "What?"

  "What you heard, don't take me wrong."

  The sound of wheels biting pavement to then spit it out rolled around his ears, the palm of his hands suddenly hot and rubbing against the cloth of his jeans. " _What?_ "

  "I have to focus on the passes, the ball. I'm not good at remembering jerseys, don't expect me to learn what they have written on them either."

  James lowered his head and swallowed hard. He apologized in his head for misreading Cris' words. "I just thought this was going to be easier, you know."

Cristiano didn't say a thing. James brought his hands to his face, slouching, and rubbed. "I miss my daughter."

The portuguese turned towards another street and started to slow down, "where are we going? I don't need this."

  As soon as he straightened, Cristiano moved his hand to rest it on James' shoulder, a touch and connection he hadn't had the chance to feel with other teammates. The rain was still hitting the glass of the windshield and his skin looked paler than it already was, when he justified "you need this. We're a bunch of idiots, but that's because you're you" and James just pouted his lips and nodded along, like he understood a thing of what he had said.  

To finish his statements, Cristiano opened the door of the car carrying his umbrella and didn't let James step out before he was there, ready to carry him under the umbrella, wrapping an arm around his shoulders before they both entered Cristiano's realm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how is the story going so far?? I'm curious to what you think about it c: let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

  The smell of black bitter coffee filled the ambience once James sat down on Cristiano's couch.

However, the owner of the place brought a different beverage for James and it had a floating cinnamon sprinkled marshmallow on top of it, foam that stained James' upper lip and made them both smirk for some long seconds.  

"My mother used to make hot chocolate after a tough practice."

  James giggled into his cup, raw sweetness and the softness of the cream caressing his throat. He looked up. "It tastes awesome, what else does it have? Almond?"  

"Guess" Cristiano sipped from his coffee rolling his eyes through James' body and then curved his lips. "But you'll get punished if you don't."  

The colombian smirked and looked at Cristiano through his lashes, trying to dig his teeth into the round edges of the hard mug. His skin looked pale and cold against the cocoa's steam, the marshmallow still floating there, the thin shimmering light of the living room contrasting with the dark storm outside reflecting on James' forehead and eyes. His lips trembled when he whispered a shy "mint liquor?"

  "You're nuts," Cristiano clicked his tongue and smiled, lost in the gaze of the colombian. "I wouldn't even dare to get you drunk. I'm not that mean," he shifted, coming closer to James, squinting eyes. "Unless you want me to."

  "You're gonna punish me?" James cracked up putting his mug down on his lap, near the hand which Cristiano rested beside his thighs, an awkward stance and a sonorous giggle. "Really? Are you gonna make me watch today's match? Laugh at each of my failed passes? We're gonna have a great time, worsening my week."  

Cristiano's game stopped. For a moment, he took in the shaky breaths between James' statement. Hidden reasons for what he had said in the car, for a loss at a match, for missing his home, for a laughter that made his eyes glossy and distant. He surrounded his shoulders with one arm and pulled the boy under an embrace, tight muscles not letting go.  

James' head laid on the curve of his elbow's ditch for an instant, aware that his growing headache was taking the best of him and the tears came to his eyes like they had done during that one night at the World Cup (unexpected, fast, unrequited). He rubbed the humid skin with one hand while the other held onto the cup tightly; burning his fingertips and not actually giving a damn about it. His mind burnt.  

"You shouldn't see me like this" a flush covered his face matching the reddened eyes from the effort to choke back cries. But as Cristiano saw him, he looked like a scratched record. A broken art piece. Something far more beautiful that had been irrupted by external causes of a darkened nature. He wriggled uncomfortable but kept his arm around James, silenced, scared, since he didn't know how to handle a crisis and his plans to spend the rest of the afternoon -and eventually the evening,- had gotten so screwed up. Further, he did want James to feel good and cozy at his home, so as the sweet chocolate and his lips would remind him of warm dampness and being with him -he swallowed, a distinct hint of dependance over James that Cris didn't like a bit- and he leaned in, confidence flooding everything around him as usual.  

He kissed his lips.

  He cupped his face with one hand, and the other caressed his shoulder, squeezing and holding him close, mouths locking, one of them paralyzed by the sudden contact of their tongues on the other's tongue. James gasped and let go. That was, well, _weird_.  

The colombian shuddered and broke free from Cristiano, embarrassed and self-conscious.  

"Sorry, I," Cris searched for the words but didn't find them. James would -no, _should_ have kissed him back, his shy hand to a side of his body, his smooth black hair under Cristiano's fingerprints; but he looked away and wiped his cheeks quietly.

  "I'm sorry it went this way, I should have asked you first..."

  "No, Cris, please."

  "Yes? Yes, it was out of place, I can go for another cup of chocolate? Maybe you'd like a snack with that?"

  "Cris" James ran his thumb across his own damp, meaty lower lip, "come here."

  From the unsafe distance they kept from each other -no less than enough to feel their breathing,- James longed at his lips. Cristiano refrained unsure, concerned, pursuing that one thing, frozen, for the next moves of James were slow and lousy (moths-crashing-into-glass-windows lousy), and all perfect and exactly what he needed them to be to reach his means. His mouths pressed, and Cristiano gently devoured his pink soft meadows in slow pace, tasting the chocolate on the delicate swirls of James' strong tongue under his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what do you think?


	4. Chapter 4

They stared at each other during practice and there was definitely something that had changed. Though Marcelo didn't know how to put it in words, he shared it with the rest of the team during a break getting weird stares, getting told that James got enough pain from the team to also be accused of trying to befriend someone.

 Iker approached to him at the locker room when the chatters and usual arguing of late afternoon took place, and he told James what was going on straight ahead, explaining that they didn't mean a single thing when they joked around. Even Cristiano -James stood uncomfortable at his mention,- joked with Marcelo and they got mad at each other for days, but still got along very well. So he shouldn't take a bit personal all those things Pepe said. No, not even the worthless south american part. No, not the 'Cristiano's rejected call' part either. He should even try and speak to Cristiano, Iker said, as he was not as intimidating as they made it seem to be; easy to say for a man whose arms and back take half of the thickness of the lockers, and whose thighs are mostly the size of James' torso, bare in front of him.

 "And yes, kid, don't be shy" Iker slapped his shoulder. "Come 'round here a little bit more, stay for a while. And for god sake's, don't act like you're a fan of Cris, we all see your blush whenever he walks inside here."

 "Sorry." James took a hand to his nape, where the man's fingers had rested that evening at his house. He hadn't spoken about it with anyone; the lips, the senseless want in Cristiano's eyes, his touch. He savored the comfortable tone of voice that Iker used towards him and shrugged. "I've had a hard week, that's all." 

"Haven't we all? Now go talk to Cris, he has asked about you twice today."      

"W-why-"

"Just do it," Iker sighed and turned around, grabbed a towel and walked back to the showers. "Socialize, kid."

-

 

His hands rested vaguely on his knees, his own brand's underwear hung tight around his hips and covering him. The steam of the recent shower made his skin glisten, and he didn't seem to care a bit when he fidgeted a plastic comb, making it jump hand to hand. His eyes were lost looking somewhere else than his own reflection on a cloudy mirror, and all of himself nearly jumped when James walked in. Cris straightened quickly as the kid turned around to find a wall and rest against it.

He goggled everywhere and sensed a cubicle with someone in it -Iker, most likely,- judging by the sound of the water reaching the floor and being interrupted by a body. Cris watched.

There was not a single intention to talk coming from the youngest. He was half stunned, half shy about whatever had been, and of course carrying his trademark blush in front of Cristiano. The tall man, occupying the large bench aside of the cubicles curled and uncurled leaving the comb on the floor and observed James head to toe, waited for something. And since that something would never come from the colombian (wasn't hard to figure out), he lingered on the way his lips opened and closed, wordless, static. And how those eyes rested glancing his chest. His shoulders. The muscles around him tensing under such tender glare.

And he wanted to touch James, to be in control of his hands over his body, to free his mind, to do unspeakable things to him, to bond both of them with each other's tact; like he had discovered the moment he kissed his l- Did Iker just start singing?

"Hi, Cris," he started. "Um, I was wondering if... You have a free day or something because I'd like to go watch a movie or a match... With you." A knot formed in the the boy's throat. The kind of knot that won't let you even breathe. Cris smirked, pleased.

"Not this week." He shook his head once. Twice. "That'll be impossible, sorry."

"Oh, okay." James looked away to the sound of a closing tap and Iker's sudden silence. He wondered if the man had lurked him into this. There was a twist of Cristiano's lips and as quick as the first drops of rain, James fell down.

 

-

He fell down metaphorically, of course. Reaching the black bottoms of a pit he had never thought he'd reach. Though his health condition was delicate and his mother had spoke to him through the phone, telling him to take some pills and eat chicken soup, James deceived it as a headache and slight -awful- tiredness regarding to a week full of rain. It didn't matter that it was sunny, however. In his mind the storm was present, present in each of the words he tried to get out while he spoke to Daniela about Salomé; when he hugged his little daughter his arms felt like they were going to freeze. He didn't want to let her go.

Cristiano watched silently from the tinted window of his car. Comfortable and resting his back on the seat, he followed James steps through the neighborhood and into a taxi; a couple of kids stopped him in the street to ask for an autograph and he -smiling,- gave them away. Then his expression completely changed, and all Cristiano wanted was to meet him at his house as soon as he could to paint one big smile. But James didn't go to his house, no. 

The taxi stopped near a club Cristiano knew for hanging out with Marcelo a little bit too much, and he gaped when he saw James - _his_ James greet the guard at the entrance, chat with him and eventually go inside where a sea of people swam under flashing colors of neon light.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

"Do you think this was a good idea? Cris is not the kind of guy to talk to the outcast, look at him."

"Jesus, Sergio, don't you ever shut up?" Marcelo played twirling a curl of his hair, his eyes focused on the dark hair spring. "We did a good thing. Cris can be an asshole from time to time, James doesn't deserve that. He's a good kid."

"You two idiots are done gossiping? Come help me with these chip bags, they won't drag themselves to the goddamn table. Where's Cristiano?"

"We don't know" Sergio turned around looking at a stressed Iker. Usual Iker.

"The man never arrives late. _Joder_ , I told him to be here before nine, look at the hours!" The keeper dropped a bottle of orange soda and it hit the floor, breaking and staining the expensive carpet of the playroom with the sticky liquid. " _Puta madre_. Sergio! Come help me with this..."

"Yup." The footballer stood up from the couch leaving Marcelo and his hair curl alone. As soon as they were gone, he pulled his cellphone out from his pocket. ' _Iker's started to break glass bottles.'_  He tilted his head to look up after he was done typing. No one there. ' _Wtf are u late for? i'm gonna get killed here if you don't show up soon!'_

-

 

It was well known in Madrid for being a selective institution, regarding the personalities that visited the place and taking good care of them as in privacy matters. Cristiano blatantly ignored the name of the club, more concerned about James' life choices, and shoved the guard to a side -the man didn't complain after seeing who it was;- looking above the crowd for those dark eyes. 

The will of finding him consumed his last drops of logic as he started to stumble his way through people, but when he saw him -oh, and he _saw_  him,- James was lost within himself, eyes closed, a smile as he danced with a (friend?) of his. He didn't look drunk at all, just enjoying himself. Enjoying himself a lot.

A pang of awful jealously struck Ronaldo.

He jerked the boy's arm, pulling a glare from the girl aside of him and took a look at James. 

He held him. For a couple of seconds, actually, because James pushed him away as hard as he could and backed off yelling. 

"Are you mad!? Cristiano, what are you doing?"

He watched the dreaded kid return to the girl's world, both surrounded by a bubble of music and laughter. James still stared at him, though. The raging volcano of sounds kept creating a wall of obsidian between them. Cristiano wanted-  _needed_ to approach to him and talk into his ear, but no. He had fucked it up already. So he tried again, pulling James arm and saying a faint, muffled 'sorry' to the girl, dragging James into the nearest bathroom he found. He locked themselves in a cubicle, his back covering the door and pushing James into the wall each time he tried to escape.

"C'mon, what did I ever _do_ to you?"

Cristiano jerked his head to a side, shrugged. "Just wanted to apologize. I couldn't say yes in front of Iker, could I?"

"What kind of sick joke is this? First the team, then you? Do you want me to leave Real Madrid? Because I can."

"Go out with me."

"I asked you first, you said no."

"But Iker was there, so..."

"You can say yes to a friend, it's just you who misreads everything I ever say or do," James yelled. Cristiano came closer to hush him, and James had to grab his neck to keep himself from falling into the toilet as he blushed. "You should go out with them instead of coming here. You don't want to be with me. You don't even know what you want."

"I want you."

James smirked and raised his eyebrows. He closed the distance between them, the colombian's lips rubbing the skin of Cristiano's earlobe. "Too late. This is highly unprofessional, Cristiano."

"I never said I was professional." 

"But you're _late_."

He turned his face, stared into his eyes; the lipgloss of Cristiano's mouth lingered between James' teeth from some seconds.

"And I don't have time for this, now."

-

 

"There you are."

The trio turned around. Marcelo was the first one to speak with a bunch of salty potato chips stored inside his cheeks. On the floor, on his knees, Sergio carried soap all over his hands. Iker held a mope and stood behind the defender, a drop of sweat flawing the sanctuary of anger that was his face.

"Yeah. There you are."

 

 -


	6. Chapter 6

"What's her name?"

Marcelo dragged his squared fingers through Cristiano's gelled locks after the storm that Iker poured all over him for arriving almost at midnight. The sticky substance and its man fragance were almost as familiar to him as Cristiano's face, and the weight of it on his lap, and the brown big worried eyes of the man that looked somewhere else.

"What's her name? You've been like this for three days straight."

Cristiano covered his eyes with clenched fists and wriggled on Marcelo's lap, tired and aware of the time on his wristwatch. The reflection showed a sad, flawed and corrupted expression, not quite used to radical shifts and swings in his mood delivered by some colombian boy in a jersey of his own team. And his lips. And the smooth skin of his face, the sofness of his cheeks that didn't grow hair... He squinted, clicking his tongue, mad at himself because having this type of crush could as well be the same as getting an injury during a World Cup. A _guy_ crush. With a _coworker_.

"Marcelo, _que posso fazer_ , hein?"

"Don't play with that kid."

The winger turned around to face Marcelo. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, you-" 

"I said it's nothing, really. Just you shouldn't mess him up, okay? Don't play with him. Look how that went with the other guy."

Cristiano sighed loudly, dreaded for the nights he had spent looking at the ceiling full of romantic frustration. Because, he could be with whoever he wanted, chase after models, hook up with strangers, but never cuddle with them once dawn came. Yes, they were beautiful, but they didn't mean a single thing.

He wanted to believe in the words he was saying, thinking, as they moved together in the dark, panting, lost within each other -but that came down to nothing comparing it with the ability of making a clothed James smile.

He pulled at his hair and Marcelo fixed the locks of hair he had tousled before, shooing him away. Iker came back along Sergio, who was hoping behind him.

"Do you need a room or something? Get away from each other, lets play some FIFA!"

"We're actually going" Ronaldo said. Marcelo nodded, adding a "we like PES, anyways."

"Guys' nights are so boring with you, I told you we should invite Gareth instead, Iker."

Iker raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, "don't feel offended by everything I said before Cris, I didn't mean it."

"It's not because of _you_ " Marcelo stood up getting rid of Cris' head and put a hand on the shoulder of the spanish goalkeeper; "he's letting you two have your night. Trust me, you don't want a crying Cristiano on a friday night, that's as bad as it gets."

Cristiano threw a grin at him and straightened, pushing him far through the room towards the door. "I have something to do, start walking."

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Cristiano drove. Marcelo didn't know where he was going after he ditched him at his house, but Cristiano drove. There was a song playing low on the stereo, _Help me lose my mind_ by 'Mazde' as the announcer described it, that lifted him above the clouds every time the beat made him tap his thumb on the wheel. He watched out the dark streets, some random hour of the night after hitting 'send' on his phone's screen, waiting for an _ok_ message or anything that confirmed that James, _his_ James, was there.

It didn't arrive, so Cristiano just parked his car in front of the kid's house and strolled through the beautiful garden of dark green foliage.

He ran his fingers across the leaves and dying flowers, and knocked the door causing a dry thump on the other side. Nothing came back. Cristiano knocked twice. The knob was there, unattended, so he twisted it. Just because he could.

An eery feeling shook him head to toe when the door opened to him, completely unlocked and knob bent under his strong hand. Did- Did James leave it open? Did someone force it open? The man's desperation grew awfully gruesome as he ran through the black living room in search of a lightened room.

He ran into furniture, hit his head with a shelf board and squinted; and between half-lidded eyes he discovered the half-open door of the kitchen with a low humming coming from there. He hushed, and quietly moved towards it with elegant and almost cat-like movements, opening to watch the suave show taking place.

James stood by his own. Swaying, moving in circles his rather round hips, tapping his feet along the rhythm of a song he sang in spanish -something Cristiano classified as Romeo Santos, for all that matters- in short white briefs. His words tangled and playing with the next statements in a contagious melody, handsomely sang. He was focused on humming as he took bits of ice cream of a plate. He had to close his eyes while he did so, and so Cristiano's eyes smiled and naughtiness spelt itself through the way one corner of his lip went up.

"James."

The boy turned around with a gasp and a small jump. He almost started crying when he saw Cris, and all the bigger man could do was cover the steps left between them and hug him, embrace him.

"It's okay," he laughed. "It's me." James' cold skin sticked to the cloth of his cotton shirt; Cristiano sighed loud to himself. His hands traveled down the soft curve of his back, like they were falling by their own, and cupped James' butt, bringing the boy to grind against Cristiano's crotch. "Did you miss me?"

"Don't you ever dare walk into my house like that again, Cris."

"It was open."

James' head fell heavy onto his shoulder and stayed there, his cheek on his neck. "I lost the keys. Someone might walk in. Come on. Let go."

"Who might walk in?"

"Another guy like you, for example."

Cristiano broke the contact and looked at James eyes bitterly. "Really?"

"It's not like there's another one like you," James bit at his lower lip, smirking. He surrounded Cris' neck with his arms and swung, like kids swing from tall polls or- no. Just like James swung from his neck. There really was no other. He enjoyed the way he did it and let go. "Do you need me to make the first bit clear? Huh?"

"What if I do?"

"Ah, my _insecure_ , own Cristiano. How does that sound?"

"Like I need to show you how confident I am" he pulled James against him and grabbed his butt cheek, not losing his smile in the process. James huffed a little and got lost in Cristiano's lip; the hands of the man traveling down his thighs.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a bit long to update! I've been having a bit of a harsh week. I hope you liked the chapter. If you read something you like/don't like let me know! The end's coming! c:
> 
> however, here are the songs I was talking about:  
> Help Me Lose My Mind (Mazde Remix) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIkaKyH3Mbo  
> Propuesta Indecente (Romeo Santos) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0FvuLKboSM
> 
> enjoy :)


	8. Chapter 8

Iker usually felt grateful for having him, while Sergio laid down fulfilled, satisfied, with a lamp on the ground and messy living room as Iker wore that haze of drunkenness over his ecstatic smile.

The last retold news of the day made up for the silent background; their sonorous laughs matched when they looked at each other's state.

"I love that you're wasted."

He grinned and rolled around the floor taking his arms to the back of his head in pillow mode. Sergio rolled too and approached him, closing his eyes. After a few huffs he was deeply asleep, so Iker had to shake him after turning off the TV.

"Take yourself upstairs, I can't drive you home."

"I love that you're wasted."

"Don't repeat it" Iker stood up wobbly and stepped on a pack of chips. The keeper held his hand out and Sergio pulled from him, making him fall to the ground on his knees. Iker sighed like he had been crushed by the whole team and rested to a side of Sergio, shaking his head repeatedly. "You talk a lot and do very little, as always. I'm so sick of that, Sese..."

The bearded man smiled and started to chuckle, running his hand along Iker's tousled hair. "I don't need anything else. Unlike Cristiano. Where do you think he's right now?"

"Getting some fine sleep. I envy that man."

"Yeah. Well, bet he'd envy this, right?" Sergio grinned basking in Iker's smile. "He must be so pissed off sobbing about James' loss, that kid knows what's right."

"Probably. Yeah."

"Cristiano's too quiet about himself, he'll never get anything from him."

"You think?"

"Of course. You see it a mile away."


	9. Chapter 9

James broke their kiss before Cristiano's hitched breathing, obviously noticing that the player needed some air.

"Do you feel comfortable?" he asked between pants.

"Cris," James' hand caressed the back of his head and smiled. "We aren't even inside yet."

"But-"

The boy- no, the _young man_ put his fingers on Cris' lips -soft, thin and gentle texture,- like a breeze had just shut his mouth, and he placed himself on Cristiano's ear making a wet sound and whispered "you're mine."

The taller footballer sighed with nothing left but his own vicious, selfish self and stayed quiet, reluctant to speak. To think about all the trouble he had with himself to reach this point was nothing compared to the stir his body felt, when James held his shoulder and decided to nibble at his earlobe, eyes closed and a higher sense of giving than Ronaldo ever had.

All that he had believed that made him happy got shattered really fast. He discovered himself relying one hundred times worse on James' pink lips, smooth, young. Hungry. Unattended. Ronaldo's hands traveled up the youth's shirt exploring the man's shivers, fingers rubbing abs, pinching hardened nipples. He murmured James' name against the pale collar bones escaping his shirt; smiled thinking when minutes away this guy was dancing against a kitchen counter, unaware of his surroundings, and thought of watching him lose his mind, _make_ him lose his mind again and ungrasp reality in a sensual, almost forbidden way.

James drew his mouth away and opened the car door throwing a suggestive glance towards Cristiano; his cheeks reddened under the soft light of the street before the portuguese house's entrance.

 

-

 

"Are you sure?"

James giggled again throwing himself onto Cristiano's bed and looked back, nodding 'yes' many times.

"Are _you_ sure, Cris?" his eyes darted to his own pants as he undid them and kicked them off. Cristiano watched, swallowing with dry throat.

"Yes, why wouldn't I-"

James wrapped his legs around his waist pulling him into the bed and he couldn't help but grind hard on him, almost falling on top of James' chest, and smiled inches away from his lover's face-  _lover's_ face? His grin widened, even more than if he had scored a hattrick at a final match. Such was the significance of having this guy wrapped in his arms wriggling to get comfortable, wriggling to roll his hips against Cristiano's, and crawling to get him off of his jeans. Cris undid them for him and caught James' biting his lower lip afterwards, staring longingly.

"Take off your shirt, too."

Cristiano smirked, paused for a moment and silently obeyed. The sound of the cloth wrinkling and landing on some spot of his bedroom hushed James' soft whimper when Cris' v-line got exposed, his abs tight and bending over _Rodriguez_ , his broad chest down under the colombian's hands scratching his back.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the last chapters took me a bit long to upload, I've had the worst of writer's block. However, it's inevitably approaching to an end! I hope you have enjoyed the fic so far. Maybe leave a review about what you liked and what you didn't like? Maybe a part you enjoyed the most? It would really help.
> 
> And hey. _Thanks_.

He positioned a soft kiss on James' temple, a carefully shaved line between his trimmed pitch black hair that he had ruled during the World Cup. "What if you tell me about that pretty girl you were dancing with?"

"I met her somewhere" he breathed Cristiano's scent in from his neck and caught his own lip between his teeth, feeling a subtle stubble caress him. His long eyelashes fluttered, tickling a hot and bothered Cristiano.

"What is her name? Why were you with her?"

"Why do you care?"

Cristiano huffed and broke the contact to stare at him with his mouth hanging half open. "I was just asking."

"No you weren't" James smiled playfully and wrapped his legs around Cris' lower torso, pulling him close again. "Don't make me wait too much, I may regret this."

Cristiano shook his head 'no' lowering down; "you wouldn't" he announced, and went for James' face locking their lips, cupping his cheeks with both hands and burying him into the mattress while rubbing their crotches together. James broke the kiss sighing and pulled at his own shirt's fabric taking it clumsily off. Then he did the same with his pants, helped by Cristiano who slowed down the process and took his own time to travel down James' thighs -pale, round, strong, soft, shivering- with his lips, little things that he had dreamed of and now had achieved coating his stirred mind. James pushed his head into the pillows, feeling Cristiano shampoo smell on them, and his forehead resting on his belly, and smiled.

He gnawed on the elastic band of the boy's underwear, tugging it down, hands too busy massaging the back of his legs. He felt him tense up, when he kissed the inner side of his thighs while having his underwear spread mid-thigh, obscenely exposed, blushing hard. Blushing like he had been doing the whole night, but somehow relaxed and tranquil when Cristiano came back to embrace him and murmur something under his breath.

"She _does_ know that you're mine, though, right."

"Fuck off" James chuckled, "and take your damn slips off, they're driving me crazy."

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

He shot a glare towards Cristiano that the latter couldn't find a significance for. More than that, he watched his open pink bitten lips close slowly and lazily as his chest dropped, deflated, all the tension of his sore muscles washing away while he pressed a kiss to the boy's temple.

They weren't specifically tangled, but they weren't separate parts either. James kept Cristiano's arm surrounding his waist and pressed onto it, climbing towards the portuguese's shoulders for a hug. Dreamier embraces couldn't even be thought of, and Cris slid out of him with a sigh, out of his climax, out of his breathtaking warmth. And he stared into James' eyes until their eyelids felt heavy, and until he opened them a couple of hours later, James was nowhere to be seen. 

-

 

Iker stretched out for his buzzing cellphone. The bright easy smile of Marcelo appeared in his ID pic and Sergio snatched the phone from Iker's hands, answering in his own sleepy sore voice with a "he's sleeping, and so am I."

Iker smirked and patted his head fondly, making the tough defender roll towards the warmth his body created and he kept Sergio in his arms. Marcelo didn't hang up, however, and shouted.

"I need you guys in here! Carlo's freaking out, I tried reaching all of your phones! You didn't go out with me last night, _did_  you?"

Sergio tilted his head making the sheets rustle under them and looked at Iker. " _What does he mean all of our phones?_ "

" _I don't know_ " Iker replied with lips covered by streaks of light brown hair. "Hey, Marcelo? Are all of you guys at practice already?"

"Well yeah, except you three."

" _Us three_?" Sergio asked, and Iker hushed him.

"And well, there's also James, who wasn't feeling well."

" _I told you, Iker! He broke his heart!_ "

"Because of some sort of back pain and stuff, but you know well what that means" Marcelo went on. "Oh. Does that mean Cris isn't there with you?"

"No, he isn't. Why- Oh." Iker's face changed completely, widening his eyes, waking completely up. "Oh, my God."

"Too much information, huh" a group of voices approached to the other end of the line and Marcelo lowered his voice. "And you two better be coming right now. I don't want any of you having no back pain today, alright?"

Iker went red to which Sergio laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, "no, we're going out, I promise!"

The eldest covered his face with both hands after Sergio hung up. "Great, they think we're... We're _something_." Sergio cringed at those words as Iker sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, "put your shirt on and lets go."

"Yeah! Can't two grown men just be friends without having half of the team believe it's about something else? I mean- I swear to God, they're so annoying. Everyone can see it."

"Idiots." Iker surrounded his favorite defender's hip with his arm and tugged from him. "Just lets go."

"Yeah." He kissed Iker's stubble and fixed the collar of his shirt. "Just lets go."

 

-

 

 

Cristiano arrived two hours late to practice that morning. He was wearing shades to cover obvious bags under his eyes, and the way they followed every movement across the pitch, like he was looking after something that no one but him could see. Like it was hard to see because some sort of light was missing, like he had lost interest in the daily activities and the way Iker shouted at him when Cris didn't perform them as he had to.

Lately Marcelo yelled 'James!' and everyone laughed at the evident anxiousness that took over Cristiano. The player almost gnawed on his lip until it was open and bleeding when Ancelotti told him to leave and solve his issues, and between the stuff he had hastily kept in his training bag his cellphone buzzed constantly, protesting that it had one new message.

It was him. Saying that the girl was his cousin, and that Cristiano totally had to meet her some other day.

And that thanks for the last night; that the next days he was looking forwards to play along with him on the pitch. And that half of the team had texted him to know how he had been.-

 

 

- 

 

A week later, after their last win, he came over Cris' house with Salome in arms. She surely was an adorable baby, and her curls tickled Cristiano's chest whenever she wriggled in comfort and laughter. He had new keys, a new haircut, and a couple of places he mentioned where he wanted to hang out with him. They also discussed Sergio's later tantrums whenever they arrived late to practice, accusing them of 'being something', idea supported by Iker and brushed off by the rest of the team. Cristiano shrugged, and James just smiled shaking his head.

There was gonna be time for them, too.


End file.
